She now felt a great inclination to go to the outer door; she wanted to

see if it rained. Why was she to suspect herself of another motive?

Captain Wentworth must be out of sight. She left her seat, she would

go; one half of her should not be always so much wiser than the other

half, or always suspecting the other of being worse than it was. She

would see if it rained. She was sent back, however, in a moment by the

entrance of Captain Wentworth himself, among a party of gentlemen and

ladies, evidently his acquaintance, and whom he must have joined a

little below Milsom Street. He was more obviously struck and confused

by the sight of her than she had ever observed before; he looked quite

red. For the first time, since their renewed acquaintance, she felt

that she was betraying the least sensibility of the two. She had the

advantage of him in the preparation of the last few moments. All the

overpowering, blinding, bewildering, first effects of strong surprise

were over with her. Still, however, she had enough to feel! It was

agitation, pain, pleasure, a something between delight and misery.

He spoke to her, and then turned away. The character of his manner was

embarrassment. She could not have called it either cold or friendly,

or anything so certainly as embarrassed.

After a short interval, however, he came towards her, and spoke again.

Mutual enquiries on common subjects passed: neither of them, probably,

much the wiser for what they heard, and Anne continuing fully sensible

of his being less at ease than formerly. They had by dint of being so

very much together, got to speak to each other with a considerable

portion of apparent indifference and calmness; but he could not do it

now. Time had changed him, or Louisa had changed him. There was

consciousness of some sort or other. He looked very well, not as if he

had been suffering in health or spirits, and he talked of Uppercross,

of the Musgroves, nay, even of Louisa, and had even a momentary look of

his own arch significance as he named her; but yet it was Captain

Wentworth not comfortable, not easy, not able to feign that he was.

It did not surprise, but it grieved Anne to observe that Elizabeth

would not know him. She saw that he saw Elizabeth, that Elizabeth saw

him, that there was complete internal recognition on each side; she was

convinced that he was ready to be acknowledged as an acquaintance,

expecting it, and she had the pain of seeing her sister turn away with

unalterable coldness.




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